Vampyre!
by il-mio-capitano
Summary: An encounter with a vampire means Giles' first Halloween in the Magic Box goes from bad to worse. With Spike trying to teach him and Buffy trying to slay him, he finds himself caught up in a crazy quest before the sun rises.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Vampyre!

Author: il_mio_capitano

Rating: PG13 for violence, no smut or language that I recall  
Characters: Giles, Spike, Buffy  
Setting: Season 5 Halloween  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this and possibly even the original characters aren't all that original  
Thanks: to littleotter73 for beta and encouragement

**CHAPTER ONE**

**_For this creature is a perversion of man and demon; baring no soul and the blackest of hearts. Such a thing may truly smile, and smile and be a villain._**

**Vampyre! The Compleat Compendium of True Accounts 1694-1737. Anon.**

**_Halloween is the one time of the year that supernatural threats give it a well-deserved rest…but if anything calamitous should happen, history suggests it will happen to one of us._**

**_Sunnydale Watcher Diaries: Volume VII. Rupert Giles_**

The evening air was warm and sticky and Quentin Travers wasn't used to such conditions in late October. As he sat on the bed of his squalid motel room listening to the phone, he mopped his brow in a gesture of borne of both heat and impatience. Travers was not a man used to having to wait his turn in any conversation, and he finally tired of the other party and launched into a sustained attack of polite interjection.

"...But all I am asking is that you retrieve this particular artefact that has fortuitously found its way to Sunnydale, and hand it over to the Council before it falls into the wrong hands."

He dabbed his handkerchief at his left temple again as his most reasonable of requests continued to be rebuffed. He tried a different tack.

"Well perhaps as Mr Giles was once on our payroll, I might be permitted to speak to him about this matter?"

No, he could not speak to Mr Giles, in fact he could... He rolled his eyes at the colourful girl.

"I appreciate you follow your own agenda these days Miss Summers, but I thought in light of our recent rapprochement, we could..."

There was a further angry outburst and the phone went dead on him. Travers sighed at the folly of youth in general and undisciplined slayers in particular, rose and stretched his legs out of his room and outside to the darkening skies. He made his way to the corner of the poorly lit parking lot where in the gloom a dark grey van was rocking irrationally. He ignored the slight commotion and addressed the driver's window.

"As I feared, our erstwhile employee and his Slayer do not wish to help us." The rocking of the van increased and there was a low growl. Travers eyed the back of the vehicle as if making a decision he had in truth decided days before.

"Persuade them otherwise," he instructed simply.

His first Halloween at the Magic Box had been something of an eye opener for Rupert Giles. He never truly understood why the previous owner carried such a large amount of 'strictly for the tourists' tat until the 31st October when the main rush had swept into shop demanding, nay fighting over the tackiest items cold hard cash could buy. It was like a hurricane had struck and he was truly grateful to Buffy and her friends for helping with the demand. He was less grateful as he looked at the trashed ruins of his stock room and the cavalier way they had upheaved grates and packaging to meet the demand of commerce.

He'd expected a quiet day, but of course this being Sunnydale, the traditional rules of demon activities never seemed to apply so why should the laws of retail? He was seriously tired and his left leg hurt like the devil because, as if the commercial frenzy hadn't been enough, he'd also rashly agreed to a thirty minute training session with Buffy after the store had closed and now even if he wasn't actually black and blue, she'd certainly knocked him several shades of purple and puce. Parts of him had no feeling, and these were parts he rather wanted to use again -like his left leg - he was rather fond of that. He was grateful he'd changed into his sweats for the session but couldn't face tidying anymore. Giles yawned and decided to leave the trash for the night. Buffy had hung on for a lift home and he was looking forward to pouring a hot bath and a large whisky and lowering himself into both. The clean-up operation could wait till morning.

He shuffled up the stockroom stairs. Buffy looked up from her college books on the big table. "How's the leg now?"

He limped a little more theatrically and replied, "Still dead thank you."

"I am sorry. You're not usually that slow."

He grimaced playfully. "Chalk it up to my venerable age then."

"Oh come on. It's not that bad."

Giles smiled at her indignant defensiveness. "I may never have circulation there again."

Buffy stuck her tongue out at him and he suppressed a giggle.

"Who was that on the phone?" Giles remembered hearing the ringing and some angry sounding words from Buffy. "Not a customer I hope?"

"Oh no." Buffy stiffened slightly. "Your old buddy Quentin Travers issuing orders from merry old England and expecting us to drop everything and lick his boots."

Giles doubted very much those were Travers exact words though the interpretation was probably correct. "What exactly did he say?"

"Some ancient artefact, Lazarus' something or other, blah blah blah." Buffy adopted a pompous British Accent. "The Slayer must prevent it from being lost or destroyed. Blah blah blah." She shot him a look. "Lazarus now! As if I don't have enough dead guys in my life. If Quentin Travers thinks he's got us at his beck and call he can… he can…. Giles! I know that far away expression. You want to go look things up don't you?"

She caught him with his mind wandering and there was no point in denying it. "It sounds familiar, I was thinking. I might have something here or at home," he replied airily.

"We're not looking for it and I told him so."

"Very well." Giles shelved the idea for later and sat down at the table with her. His leg was still hurting again and he rolled up the leg of the sweat pants to inspect for swelling.

Buffy bit her lip. "Maybe we shouldn't train as hard. I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't want to you hurt me either," he joked.

"But you get hurt anyway. We have an alarmingly twisted relationship when you come to think of it."

"I don't think so, not really. I mean I throw knives at you. Granted if you start throwing them back we'd have a problem but..." as he spoke he picked a book from the shelf behind him and sought refuge in the pages. "After all the Watcher's role is to help and train the Slayer for combat."

"Yeah but maybe you should just help and train with the books and stuff."

Giles studied his book more intently. Buffy moved a little closer, indicating she was not going to drop the topic so easily. She spoke very softly.

"You were too slow. That's why I caught you with that karate kick."

"You are the Slayer," he grouched back. "Everyone human would have been too slow to stop that kick."

"All right," she conceded. "Not slow then. But you didn't do enough to block me. It was like, something inside you knew it was the winning move and you just accepted it like it was checkmate or something. I'm the Slayer, I expect to win too, but when you see the end coming, sometimes you give up too easily."

"We are supposed to be training you not me," he answered, turning a page to avoid eye contact.

"I need you to challenge me though."

"Did I mention that I throw knives at you? I'd say that was pretty challenging. It's not something you can exactly hold back on."

"Fine. I'm not saying you don't try… I'm sorry I said anything." She raised her hands to back off.

"But you think I'm inadequate as a training partner?" Giles blurted out the question and immediately regretted putting it into words.

"No. No." Buffy rose from the table to shorten the distance between them. "Please don't be upset about this." She touched his shoulder, rubbing her thumb on his grey sweat top. "You're not inadequate. You don't hold back, I know that. But I also know you don't really mean it. And that's always going to give me an advantage. In your heart you're a big old softie, Rupert Giles."

He sniffed and starting to look around the floor and under the books on the table. Buffy was puzzled. "Whatcha doing?"

"Looking for my self-esteem. I know I had it here somewhere."

She rose and pulled a face. "Fine. Do the denial thing. I'm going to take a quick sweep of the cemeteries. I know it's Halloween but hello Sunnydale..."

"Do you want some company?"

"Not tonight. You should take care of that leg of yours. Tell you what: You stick to the books and I'll slay the bad guys, OK? I'll stop by in a couple of hours. Drive me home afterwards?"

He nodded and banished dreams of his early night at home.

"I'll be here when you get back," he promised.

Buffy smiled at him. "I know you will and I love you for it. That and the fact you now own I car I'm not ashamed to be seen in." Her eyes challenged him with the insult and he took it affectionately.

Giles' smile faded as soon as the front door merrily peeled Buffy's exit. He threw down the book he'd been pretending to study and limped with some anger back down to the stock room to clear out the mess that Buffy and her hordes had left. He savagely started to crumple boxes and squash bubble wrap into a big heap. He'd been childishly happy when they had resumed her training and purchasing the lease of the shop had given him new focus and a base to work from with Buffy. It hurt in his throat to think he might not be able to keep up with her. He'd thrown himself into the purpose of this new phase of his life with Buffy and maybe he'd been stupid to think he could match her. She trained with Angel and Riley of course he thought bitterly. Stick to the books old man, had been her message. When had he stopped being a credible threat to anyone?

Giles scooped up the recyclables, packaging was the bane of his shop keeping life, and opened the back door with some difficulty. The bins were at the far end of the yard and he immediately juggled and lost a couple of small plastic items. As he bent over to collect them out, he realised a little too late that he wasn't alone in the yard. Instinctively he rapidly turned to try to throw everything at his assailant but as he did so as a heavy object cracked his skull and everything turned dark before he crumpled to the ground.

Giles woke up with a numb feeling on the side of his face where he was in contact with the cold concrete of his yard. Much as he resented Buffy's assessment that he'd lost his touch, he did have to concede that he got knocked unconscious an alarming number of times. His self-deprecation was interrupted however by a woman's scream close by. Giles shook himself to full consciousness and saw an attractive middle aged woman wearing a long camel coat in an obvious life of death struggle with a burly vampire. Giles hauled himself to his feet, broke off a lump of wood from one of the pallets from a dumpster and rammed his makeshift stake through the back ribs of the attacker. His aim was rewarded with a shower of dust and he managed a weak smile at the woman though she just looked back at him in shock. She was probably a tourist who had strayed into somewhere she shouldn't have, he thought. It wasn't surprising she didn't look terribly impressed. He felt groggy at the sudden activity and dropped his head to see that his sweat top was covered in blood and grime. It must have been quite a head wound he'd picked up earlier.

The tourist was shaking and looking at him nervously. She'd had a rough night of course. Giles watched with interest as she dropped cautiously to the ground, feeling for her purse though never once taking her eyes off him.

"Would you like to come in to the shop to freshen up?" He took a step nearer but she screamed like a banshee again. As Giles pulled up in surprise, the woman he had just saved from certain death took off like an ungrateful jackrabbit in the opposite direction. He saw a last flash of the camel from the streetlight on the corner and then she was gone.

"You're welcome," he muttered after her.

He couldn't really blame her. That coat was expensive and she was certainly in the wrong part of town. Giles felt like death and maybe he looked a lot worse too. She probably thought he lived in the dumpsters -"Marvellous first impression, old chap" - and he blundered back into the Magic Box still feeling pretty groggy. Damn, he'd probably have to go to ER and maybe he needed stitches. He felt the back of his head gingerly for wet patches just as the store doorbell jauntily announced Buffy's return with impeccable timing to witness his latest failure at hand to hand combat. Could his night get any worse?

"Giles! What happened to you?" Buffy rushed the gap between them but he turned his back from her fussing and headed for the back room and the sink in the corner to wash up. He wasn't in the mood for any flippant remarks so he gave her the condensed version of events.

"Vampire outside. Clobbered me but I got it before it took out the camel."

"And the concussion count is how many now?" she replied archly as she followed him into the back room.

He ignored her, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the inevitable sarcasm and I told you sos he was about to be subjected to. He put the plug in the sink and ran some cold water.

"I'll be fine," he said a little impatiently, flashing her a quick reassuring smile before returning his attention back to the sink.

"Oh god. Giles, your face."

She spoke so quietly he almost missed her words. Her voice had actually trembled and her tone had been pure concern. It was rather sweet of her to worry. He swivelled to give her a better look at himself and saw her eyes widen.

"Is it bleeding?" he asked. "Damn."

Puzzlingly, Buffy was giving him a look very similar to the one from the tourist lady. He looked down in bewilderment: his sweats were filthy were he'd been laid on the street and there was a lot of dried blood, but nothing out of the ordinary. His hands he noticed were cold and almost blue; probably from the shock.

Buffy looked so worried he smiled to reassure her. "It's OK. I'll live," he promised.

He stopped the water and leaned back against the sink as another wave of nausea swept him. He really was getting too old for this; maybe she'd been right about his uselessness. He lifted his head to the mirror above the sink to see what damage had been done to his face. He expected cuts, bruises and swelling. Instead he got nothing but the back wall behind him. He blinked. His brain had been badly muddled but it seemed like the mirror wasn't working. He felt Buffy shift slightly to his right and watched in fascination as her image filled the mirror even though she was directly behind him. Her eyes were wet and angry and her lip trembled slightly. He watched in paralysed fascination as her hand slipped to her inside pocket and produced a stake.

Giles' brain, legs, and outright instinct for survival all kicked in at about the same second. This was no time to concede she had the better fighting position. He dived left and took off through the shop to the front door. He pulled at display stands desperately as he ran, cascading his stock as obstacles to impede her progress. She was going to be faster than him and he needed all the help he could get. She pulled on his arm as he went through the doorway but he slammed the heavy door back at her, the bell flew from its bracket – he'd always hated that bell anyway – but he must have hit her hard because she wasn't chasing him. Giles ran on down the streets, as far and as fast as he could go, not daring to look over his shoulder. He darted down a random alleyway and hid pathetically behind the dumpsters. Buffy could not have seen his direction from the shop because he heard no following footfalls as he crouched into the darkness and the dirt. His leg should have hurt from training session injury. He should have been out of breath. His heart should have been racing with fear and adrenaline but it wasn't and nothing gave him more pain than the implications of that knowledge and that Buffy slayed his kind.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

**_A Watcher may have family, a Watcher may have friends, if he is fortunate a Watcher may have a Slayer, but above all a Watcher has a Duty to protect the World above all other personal concerns._**

**_Indoctrination Materials for intake of 1724. Not to be removed from Council Archives_**

Stretched out on the rather garish bedspread of his motel room, Quentin Travers raised his eyes from his paperwork to glare at the young man that he had brought as his assistant on this mission.

"Do stop pacing up and down, Henry. There's a good boy."

"I'm sorry Uncle. But I do think that a motel that boasts of air conditioning really ought to make good on its promise."

Travers took his glasses off and stretched his legs. In the good old days taking family as part of one's retinue meant unflinching loyalty and support. People you could trust, people you could rely on when engaged in less by the book operations. But his sister's youngest boy had done nothing to suggest any sort of interest in the council's important work and Travers was beginning to regret ever saying yes to his sister's plea to get the boy 'out into the world for a bit'. He had his mother's sandy coloured hair but it was far too long and he had an annoying habit of sweeping it out of his eyes like he'd stepped out of an Evelyn Waugh novel.

"We do have slightly more important matters in hand. I suggest you save up that nervous energy for when it's going to be needed," Travers said severely, hoping to install some sense of gravitas into the situation.

The young man flopped despondently on the foot of the bed. It was a tremendous liberty that only family would dare to take, Travers felt the invasion of his personal space keenly.

"But why?" Henry lamented. "I don't understand the importance of all this cloak'n'dagger stuff. It's all a bit silly isn't it?"

Not for the first time, Travers regretted that his family seemed immune to all the tactics he usually deployed to intimidate other trainees.

"No my boy, this is deadly serious and the sooner you realise we are fighting a war..." Both men jumped slightly as the motel door opened, Travers hand slipped to the stake on the bedside cabinet out of instinct. Henry just sat with his mouth open.

The lady in the long camel coat entered, her hair was dishevelled and she sported a cut lip and the early swelling of a black eye.

Henry rose gallantly to her side. "I say June, are you alright?"

She smiled weakly and answered. "It certainly got a bit rougher out there than I'd have liked."

"How awful for you," he sympathised.

"Yes, yes, yes," snapped Travers impatiently. "That is all very well, but did it work?"

June nodded and winced as Henry helped her out of the camel coat. "It was very effective, sir. I think it's fair to say Miss Summers has her motivation now."

Carefully avoiding all his neighbours and parties of Trick-or-treaters, Giles snuck into his apartment, pulled to all the curtains and as a final precaution relocked the front door. The apartment's owner was dead and at least he didn't need an invite to gain access, which was a small but grim blessing. He looked rather sadly at the possessions gained in a lifetime. Tomorrow he supposed Xander would stoically pack away his books and Buffy and Willow would sit on the stairs with red eyes. He could never come back to this home again. Life for him now (life! Oh the irony), was to be sewers and graveyards, fearing daylight and hiding from all comfort and company. He'd never again sit on the beach and watch the sun rise, never chew grass on the edge of a lazy cricket match. If that was to be immortality, then he wasn't too sure he had the stomach for it.

He took the stairs quickly for fresh clothes, instinctively picking out darker items, his black jeans, shirt and somewhat battered leather jacket. The clothes matched his mood and he was not disposed to stand out in the night for Buffy to find. He wouldn't have long before she came for him. Stupidly he'd left his car and wallet at the Magic Box and whilst she might have doubled back there thinking he'd try to collect them, eventually she would pitch up at his house to finish what she had tried to start.

He washed up as best he could with no reflection and quickly searched his weapons chest for portable items. He didn't dare touch the crosses or the holy water but filled his pockets with stakes and old switchblade knife that his grandmother had given him on his fourteenth birthday. His mother hadn't been terribly impressed with that choice of gift and he smiled at the memory. It was a wholly inappropriate and dangerous gift for a fourteen year but Giles thought it pretty cool and was the envy of his friends for a time. Typically, his father had given him the four volumes of The Works of Resurrection and told him rather pompously there would be a test when he'd finished reading them. Giles felt a sudden chill as he thought about resurrection and Buffy's mention of Lazarus. He was now dead and in need of a miracle. It could not be a grim co-incidence, not if Travers had been involved. He needed to read those books of his father's now and hoped to god they weren't at the Magic Box. He flew to the glass bookcase and started to pull out volumes frantically.

He was reading intently by a single desk light, tossing books to the floor as he searched, when he heard a key in the front door that stopped him cold. He had run out of time. Buffy had found him too soon and short of jumping out of the window he could see no means of escape. The hairs on the back of Giles' neck stood up as he watched the door open very slowly to reveal...Spike.

"Spike? Since when the hell did you have a key?"

The vampire jumped visibly and began to stumble an excuse.

"Ah Watcher, I can explain, I was passing and ..."

Giles rushed to slam the door shut behind his visitor. "Let's not attract the neighbourhood shall we?" he snapped and cautiously tugged the curtains but could see no-one else in the courtyard.

"Oh my god." Spike spoke very softly. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I'd have thought that was obvious." Giles replied tetchily. Spike put his hand flat against Giles' chest for a heartbeat neither of them knew he would find.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

Giles shrugged the hand off his shirt. "I don't want your pity."

Spike gestured to the books across the table. "I'm saving the pity for the rest of us. Does the Slayer know of this?"

"Enough to try and meet her job description."

Spike looked at him wryly. "Probably don't want to go giving her any more opportunities."

Giles put his hands in his pockets. He didn't want to think about how Buffy would react at a second chance to kill him. He was a threat to Dawn and Joyce and she wouldn't hesitate. Spike picked up some of the books on the desk and looked at the cryptic titles.

"Often wondered about you with all that talk of dark magic in the past," he mused. "Often thought you'd be a right bastard as a vampire."

"Thanks." Giles replied coldly.

"You bookish blokes can get some funny ideas when you're turned. It's always the quiet ones that want to end the world. What are you cooking up?"

"None of your business. What did you come for anyway?"

Spike shrugged and helped himself to the kitchen. "You used to be a man with a well-stocked fridge." He knelt for a plastic carton of blood from the back of the refrigerator and returned to the living area in triumph. "You can't stay here you know. Slayer is going to come a-calling sooner or later. Want some?" Giles considered his body's reaction. The thought of drinking blood rather repulsed him. Spike bit the top off savagely and waved the packet. "Need to keep your strength up."

"Not right now."

Spike grunted and went to settle on the sofa with his prize. He put his feet on the coffee table and began to consume the blood. Giles scowled at his manners.

"Wot? We're evil soulless creatures of the night, Rupert. We don't wipe our feet and make with the 'please and thanks yous'. There are No Rules anymore."

Giles hated to accept that Spike was probably right. It wasn't his home anymore. Not his furniture. Not his books. He took comfort in the fact that, for the time being at least, the scotch on the kitchen counter was still his and poured himself a large one.

"I suppose not," he muttered sadly.

Spike talked and drank at the same time. "You know, you'd feel a lot better if you ate someone with that. I can show you the best places to hunt."

He considered the idea and supressed a shudder. Spike was too absorbed in his blood bank donation to notice. The chip stopped him from feeding directly, prevented him from harming anyone human with intense neurological pain, but he still needed the blood. He was at least proof that it was possible to exist this way without killing anyone.

Spike gurgled with contentment and dropped the empty packet on the floor provocatively. Giles didn't react. It wasn't his house anymore. No Rules.

"What stupid bugger did this to you anyway?"

"I didn't stop to ask. I was too busy dusting him."

"Whoa. Way to go Watcher! Takes some nerve to do that, I'm impressed. Vampires don't usually outright kill their sire, apart from the really mental cases of course, but it's a kind of rule."

"I thought there were no rules," Giles replied with sarcasm.

Spike put his hands behind his head and stretched lazily. "More of a compulsion then. An inbuilt need to protect their sire. It's in the blood. It's why we do it. Takes a strong character to overcome that genetic impulse to shield your maker from harm. Or a complete psychopath. Always wondered about you."

Giles glared but Spike was thinking. "A human who is perhaps a little closer to the demon than most could do it without thinking twice. Someone who has killed his own kind before." Spike suddenly shifted into a look of intense interest. "How dark do you go, Watcher?"

Giles finished the scotch in his glass to ignore the question. Alarmingly, Spike rose to him and stroked a finger on the sleeve of Giles' leather jacket. "Reckon you've had your own demons before but there's nothing to hold you back now. Have you eaten anything yet?"

Giles backed away from Spike's touch and shook his head.

"Well then!" Everything suddenly made sense to Spike. "No wonder you're a bit confused. You have to feed Rupert. Or you really will go crazy. First few hours are critical."

He eyed Spike suspiciously. "You're making this up."

Spike grinned and the intensity of the moment was lost. Giles picked up the nearest book and turned the pages rapidly to resume his research.

"You Watchers don't know everything. So don't go reading about destroying the world. Not till you've sampled it properly. You'll feel differently on a full stomach. I can help you with this stuff." Spike lit a cigarette and contemplated the future. "Think of me as your undead life coach."

Giles would rather not have thought about Spike at all but the book he'd picked up was familiar.

"I'm not reading about destroying the world," he protested.

"Very glad to hear it."

"I'm reading about…" Giles stopped. It was there! The chapter he remembered as a child, albeit in Greek, was finally in front of him and included as a bonus there was an engraving showing a jet black stone, the size of a man's fist with intricate spell work engraved in white letters around it.

Spike sidled up to look over his shoulder. "It's a pebble," he intoned flatly. "Couldn't it be something solid gold for once? You'll need money." He eyed the room with professional interest. "Got anything decent we can hock?"

Giles translated and read aloud. "_Illustration shows the Lazarus Stone from 14th century Tuscany. Believed to be able to reverse demon occupation from recently afflicted._"

Spike began to inspect the ornaments on the mantelpiece. "I do hope you're not going to be this boring as a vampire, Rupert."

"_Accusations of necromancy drove its creator to flee the attacking village mob_ - as village mobs are wont to do," he added dryly, "_when witnesses talked of recent pale ones returning to the light_."

Spike merely blew out his cheeks with boredom. "Taking that as a yes then."

"_And restoring breath and blood_. And he knew that. Quentin bloody Travers knew that. Oh I am going to kill that man in so many unpleasant ways."

"Now you're talking more like a vampire. When do we start?"

Giles ignored Spike's happy enthusiasm and returned to his reading.

"This stone is a cure you see. _Recent pale ones_ might mean there is a time limit on this thing working…" He flicked a page. "Yes, till um sunrise. Well that was obvious wasn't it? I've got till sunrise to find this thing."

"So just to be clear, you staked your sire and now you think there's a chance you can become human again? Heaven help us, it's bloody Angel all over again. I have to say Watcher, so far you're a bit of a disappointment as a vampire. I really thought you'd be more evil than this."

"Well the night is still young," Giles said with irony. "The Lazarus Stone must be here somewhere. Maybe it's affecting me somehow?"

Spike shrugged. "So this pebble is somewhere in Sunnydale. And if we don't do anything about it, by sunrise you'll be properly evil? Because, forgive me, but I'm thinking that I might prefer you with a bit of backbone."

Giles snapped the book shut impatiently. "And believe me you'll be the first thing I kill if you don't help me now."

Spike didn't react well to the threat and his anger flashed unexpectedly. Giles actually flinched.

"I don't think you've quite got the hang of the pecking order with these things, mate. I don't take orders from newbie vampires." He was still and suddenly very menacing. "You don't get to tell me what to do. And even if you don't accept my seniority, you're not human anymore." Spike smiled dangerously. "You are now officially something I can hurt."

Giles nodded curtly. "Very well, then I'll find this thing on my own." He wanted Spike's assistance very badly though and he considered how best to frame the invitation. "I really would appreciate your help in this matter..." Giles switched off the lights and made for the front door. "And of course we'll probably have to kill lots of things to get to it."

Spike's mood brightened immediately. "Thought you'd never ask, Rupes."

Spike sauntered into Willy's Place and left Giles to wait outside — it wouldn't do for them to be seen together and Buffy would be quick to pick up any scent. Spike had slapped Giles on the back and grinned.

"See that drunk making his way to his car?" He pointed to a portly middle aged sales rep juggling a brown bag of strong liquor and fiddling with some car keys. Spike touched Giles' shoulder and grinned. "I'll find out what I can about this fancy rock you're after, in the meantime," The grin grew broader, "Why don't you get yourself something to eat?"

"It's a bit public isn't it?"

"No rules, Rupert."

Giles nodded and steeled his heart. Spike swept into the Willy's bar leaving him and the sales rep the only people in the parking lot. Giles gripped the handle of his grandmother's knife and then felt a little stupid as he was a vampire and wouldn't need additional weapons. His prey put the brown bag on the hood of his car and held the keys to a street light. He was swaying slightly. It would almost be a public service to keep him off the road. Giles slipped round to the back of the vehicle and stopped. He realised that as a vampire, he had no idea how to kill a man in cold blood, and surprisingly little instinct or desire to do so. He'd thought of vampires as animals, killing without thought or need, acting out of an inner baseness that was sorely lacking in him at the very moment. Giles suddenly felt very stupid and exposed as the man turned and saw him.

"Vampire!" He was transfixed by Giles' face and mumbled, "oh god, my wife, my kids"

He was going to scream and Giles needed to move swiftly to prevent him. Instead he stood dumbfounded and watched his 'victim' sober up instantly.

"Vampire, here, take." The man desperately pulled his pockets, cigarettes, lighter, preposterous red spotted handkerchief crashed to the ground. He threw his car keys at Giles and tugged at his inside pocket, hurling his wallet which actually hit a surprised Giles in the face. He turned, stumbled and crawled back to a heedless run to the open road. Giles made no movement to follow though he could have reached him in a few easy strides. He just watched the roly-poly figure flee as if it the experience were on a TV show.

The discarded bottle of bourbon sloshed down the side of the Pontiac and Giles rescued it to an upright position. It was not the most auspicious start to his career as a creature of darkness. Maybe Buffy had been right all along, when push came to shove, he held back, he had no stomach for real violence.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

**_It is a common myth that the vampires can fly, they cannot: they can however drive motor vehicles._**

**_Modern Worries of the Undead by Sir Peter Heskwith-Smythe Crown copyright 1923_**

He drove his 'new' car a short distance the bushes and waited for Spike. He killed the engine and took a huge pull of the bourbon so thoughtfully provided by the Pontiac's previous owner. He felt a little ashamed of himself for stealing the car but he told himself there were practical problems to overcome in his new situation. It wasn't as if he was fourteen years old and joyriding for the thrill of it - impressing the girls and annoying his father as a bonus. No, it was a practical decision to steal because he was cut off from his own car and belongings and he'd need a certain amount of money to get by even if he was a vampire now, whose lot it was to hang on Spike's coattails and mug harmless drunks – Dear Lord - he drank from the bottle again in self-disgust.

The passenger door pulled open suddenly and Spike leered in. "Buy a girl a drink, sailor?"

Giles glared back. "Just get in the car."

"Touchy, touchy." Spike slammed the door behind him and inspected the possessions on the dashboard. He helped himself to the half opened packet of cigarettes, lit one with the cheap lighter and opened the wallet. Spike beamed with pride. "Very nice work," he said, pocketing the cash shamelessly. He cast a cynical eye over the family photos. "Ugly kids though the wife is a bit of a stunner," he declared. "Got an address for them here too. I can show you how to get them to invite you in."

Giles had heard enough. "That's mine," he declared and snatched back the wallet and the lighter. There was an awkward silence as he bit back his anger. He hated this casualness towards life and other people's possessions.

Spike was smiling. "Good. Got to learn to protect what's yours now, mate." The tip of his cigarette seemed to glow playfully.

Giles grunted but wondered how serious Spike had been about the house call. He hoped to god it was just a test.

"Put up much of a fight did he?" Spike asked.

"It was over very quickly," Giles answered truthfully. "What did you find out from Willy's?"

"Drive us out by Route 12. There's a demon club there past Jenkins Ridge."

"Really? I've never heard of there being one."

"Well they don't exactly advertise in 'Young Watcher's Gazette' do they? Slayer traffic is bad for business."

The smoke from Spike's cigarette was starting to get to Giles. It had been years since anyone had smoked in a car with him.

"It's Halloween and all the big bads got to go somewhere. Gossip is that there is a new gang with an awful lot of costume jewellery looking to party in the fair town of Sunnydale once the holiday season is over. Sound far too big on fighting among themselves and cutting off bits of each other to be bothered with trinkets and rituals but as it's the only lead we've got we should take a look."

"Agreed."

Giles reached for the stolen cigarettes and lit himself one. He'd quit before he'd even come to California but he didn't think the Health Advisory notices were going to matter now. He pocketed the packet and lighter out of habit.

"What about the Slayer?" Spike asked lazily.

Giles shifted a little uncomfortably. "What about her?"

"You said she knows what's happened. That means she's going to come after you, you know."

Giles gripped the steering wheel a little harder. 'I know. I..I.. just have to stay out of Buffy's way until this thing is resolved."

"Sounds like a good plan." Spike directed smoke up to the car ceiling. "And just as well really. No offence mate but I've seen you in a fight. You're going to have to get a lot smarter if you want to take on the Slayer. You need to learn to stay in one piece. It's a demon eat demon world out there. Never show any weakness. Always fight for the kill."

"Thank you, Sun Tzu."

"Well I saw you go up against Angelus and you were rubbish."

"How would you like to fit in my ashtray?" Giles snarled.

"It's amazing you didn't get yourself killed years ago. You had Angelus on the ropes but you backed off for a second and let him in. I've seen you in plenty of fights. You are not committed. It's like you're afraid to let yourself go, and in those few moments, you are vulnerable. Been lucky to only get bashed on the head in the past. But now it's all or nothing more than ever. You've got to embrace the violence and the pleasure more quickly. Let yourself go and enjoy it for what it is. Got to win every battle from now on. Not going to have the Slayer come to your rescue and kiss everything better."

"I suppose," Giles admitted sulkily. He drank another shot from the bottle. Being pulled over for DUI was the least of his worries.

Travers emerged from the bathroom to find June watching TV quietly and his nephew on the phone. June was old school Council and Travers was grateful to have her on the team. She knew the virtue of silence unlike Henry who was prattling away on the phone.

"Right OK. Thank you for that. Ta-ta"

The boy put the phone down and pulled his hand through his fringe in one sweeping but hugely irritating motion. Travers waited for him to report, but his nephew merely looked at him with a slightly open mouth.

"Well? Are you going to tell me the latest news or shall we stare at each other till dawn?"

"Oh right, sorry. Yes. That was one of our local informants. Mr Giles has been spotted out near Jenkins Ridge on route 12. Apparently he's teamed up with Billy Idol, which doesn't make a lot of sense to me but I suppose he doesn't get many gigs these days, punk being so passé..."

"And the Slayer?" thundered Travers in exasperation.

"Was last seen entering Mr Giles' apartment some thirty minutes ago but hasn't yet reappeared." Henry answered smartly.

June looked up from the TV. "That's a little odd. We know he's not there so what is she doing?"

Travers snorted his contempt. "Hardly the time for sentimental grief. I'd have thought better of her frankly. Sadly this is why we had to let her go. Far too emotional."

"Do you think she's upset at what has happened, Uncle?"

Travers looked to the gods and the non-functioning aircon unit for strength and idly wondered how upset his sister would be if he lost her son someplace sinister.

The Pontiac took Giles far out of town and up into scrubby side roads until Spike directed him to turn off the road and drive around a small wooded copse before stopping. There were plenty of tyre tracks to follow and Giles concentrated on avoiding the worst of the roots and low branches to follow the beaten path. At a clearing up ahead, Giles saw a number of motorbikes and beaten up cars clustered around an old wooden barn, it had electricity of sorts as there was music and laughter and a number of figures could be seen moving around.

"Do we launch some sort of attack?"

Spike was bemused. "I'm all for a good heedless slaughter but generally I like the odds to be less completely suicidal. Come on."

As they approached the club on foot, Giles lit up another cigarette to give himself some confidence at approaching a demon roadhouse. It actually reminded him of the first illegal drinking club he'd been in when he was a kid. Smoking had made him feel older then too. The noise levels picked up as they got nearer and Giles read a huge sign pronouncing 'Happy Halloween" above the single entry door.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"Bit of a Shangri-La for your basic demon drop out types, which includes you now. Place to unwind that the Slayer doesn't know about. Now," Spike brushed imaginary dust off Giles' shoulders and inspected him. "Follow my lead and don't give anyone any lip. We play it cool. We ask around. Resist any urge to rampage your little Watcher heart. OK? Now smile for the nice doorman."

A doorman, well door-demon really, put a hand out to block their entry. "No Smoking," he said in a deep intimidating voice.

Giles blew smoke and tried to tough it out. "I thought you said there were No Rules?"

The door-demon ignored him completely. "Sorry Spike, been a really dry summer," he explained. "Mitsy has declared the place no smoking on account of the timber. Who's the kid with the death wish?"

"This here is Rupert. Silly name I know." The demon looked at Giles with ill-concealed suspicion. Giles in turn remembered that at age fourteen he used to be able to intimidate every bouncer in the area into letting him into their club. Spike sighed, "It's OK, I can vouch for him. He always does look a bit dozy."

Giles glared in outrage but ground out his cigarette and they were allowed to pass. "Better teach him some manners before somebody else does." The doorman called out in warning after them.

Inside the place was teeming with vampires and demons of all ilk. Giles wished he'd brought a note book to record them all, in any other circumstances it would be fascinating. He looked up and spun around to squint at the old wooden beams and the strings of lights rigged dangerously to a generator out back. They probably just ate any safety inspectors that called. There was a juke box and a bar. In the corner a number of patrons were cheering some sort of sports activity but Giles could only see the backs and hear shouts of encouragement.

"What's going on over there?

Spike shrugged. "That's the games area."

Giles found it quite refreshing to discover that demons played bar games.

"Is there a dart board?" he asked hopefully.

At that point there was a slight separation in the crowd and Giles just caught a glimpse of a boxing ring set of ropes and a battered vampire being kicked in the head for the cheering pleasure of the onlookers.

"Probably, but you don't want to sign up to the league." Spike answered dryly and pulled on Giles' lapel to follow him more closely.

"What do we do now?"

"We play it cool. Relax. Have a drink. You're with your own kind here."

As Spike spoke above the noise of the crowd, an incredibly evil looking biker demon, that Giles instinctively felt he had no commonality with at all, pushed past them. Was this really his own kind? Could he afford to be snobbish about demons now? The guy spat on the floor and scratched his crotch lazily. Yes, Giles stiffened his resolve, he jolly well could.

Spike switched on the charm as he approached the bar. "Two pints please, love."

To Giles, the landlady looked a lot like any other landlady down the east end of London – aside from being a demon of course. She was incredibly old and dressed about thirty years younger, with makeup enough for two. Spike's charm didn't wash and she narrowed her eyes. "Let's see the colour of your money first, Spike."

"All perfectly green for you Mitsy, I assure you," he said and fanned a number of the stolen bills across the counter. She palmed half of them and turned her attention to Giles.

"Who are you, handsome?" she flirted, stooping forward a little to give him a better view of her cleavage. Giles had no words.

"This here is Rupert, Mits. We're out tonight celebrating his first kill."

She beamed at Giles in pleasure, her makeup cracking at the laughter lines. "In that case, hun, yours is on the house."

Giles blushed at the slight fraud he was perpetrating and remembered his manners.

"Well that's jolly of kind of you but..." He voice trailed off as she pushed a glass of blood towards him. "...you really shouldn't..." He tired his most winning smile – fraud be damned - "Have you got anything stronger? In the single malt range?"

She looked puzzled but shrugged and pulled down a shot glass and a dusty bottle of Glenlivet from a high shelf.

In the meantime the bar flies had gathered and started to congratulate Spike. "You must be very proud." Giles heard one say.

"Well," Spike grinned, "You teach them all you can, but in the end you just have to let them find their own way."

A cry went up around the room. "To Rupert and his first kill." Giles smiled shyly to the room in uncomfortable acknowledgement and downed his entire scotch. He turned back to the bar in time to grab Mitsy's rather bony hand.

"No," he pleaded. "Please leave the bottle."

The gaming corner gave a huge cheer at what was the end of a contest and started to disperse. The unlucky vampire was being hauled unceremoniously by his ankles outside to the night air. There was clapping and cheering and then Giles caught sight of the victor and wondered how he hadn't been able to see him before. He was eight foot tall if he was an inch and sported a high barrel like chest which swelled with pride as he took the congratulations of the room. A number of gold chains and medallions chinked to the rhythm of his breathing. This demon had huge improbable forearms and yet a disproportionately small head. He wore a black straggly beard across his scarred chin and yet had terribly sweet ears that looked like little buttons.

"Bloody hell," Giles muttered.

Spike put his drink down and half turned. "Yeah," he agreed dryly. "I heard the globetrotters turned him down."

Giles pointed in silence at the demon's enormous high barrel chest.

Spike didn't understand his fascination but nodded and said, "Looks like Bluto from Popeye don't he? Don't make any spinach jokes is my advice."

"No look," Giles pointed more animatedly. "He's got the Lazarus Stone."

It was there. The jet black stone with white lettering, worn as a necklace around the demon's neck among hundreds of other trophies. Giles' excitement had caught the big demon's attention. The crowd followed in anticipation as he swaggered up to the bar and loomed over Giles and Spike.

"Something interests you, little vampire?"

It was a casual enough question. The entourage seemed if anything a little disappointed.

"Well yes actually, I was admiring the um pebble thing you are wearing." Giles stumbled out the words in a voice that seems a lot higher than his.

The big demon smiled to reveal a set of irregular teeth.

"You'd like me to give it to your perhaps?"

Spike made some sort of squeaky protest but Giles blundered on, "That would be jolly kind of you..."

"NO, no. He doesn't mean that," Spike said hastily. "He's newly risen. Cut him a break eh?"

"English?" the demon smiled encouraging at Giles again, "Sure. I'll cut him anything he wants."

Giles took this as a positive thing and started to bargain.

"How much? What do you want for it?"

"The twelve beating hearts of new born human babies." The room roared with laughter.

Giles swallowed hard. "What's that in dollars?" There was more laughter. Spike was laughing hardest and trying to end the conversation, offering drinks, asking for more music. But the big demon wasn't finished with Giles.

"Why don't you fight me for it?" he said simply. The room immediately fell silent.

"A-Alright," Giles stammered. Bluto beamed down at him with feral pleasure.

Spike snaked a room around Giles shoulders. "Excuse us one moment", and pulled him to one side.

"Are you insane?" he hissed. "You can't fight that."

"I have to get the Lazarus Stone and I'm running out of time."

"Yes but YOU can't fight THAT. He will pull your arm off and paint your face with the soggy end just for starters."

"I have to try."

There was the distinct sound of chicken noises behind them. A voice shouted "Someone needs to teach your whelp a lesson."

Spike ignored it all and pulled Giles face into both hands. "Watcher, it's over. Accept this. Don't be in such a hurry to turn your back on this way of living."

He was sincere and Giles was actually quite touched but his mind was made up.

"I can't live like you," he explained. "If I can get the Stone, reverse this... Don't you ever have regrets?"

Spike studied him and shook his head sadly.

"You've been a bit of a disappointment in the being evil stakes so far, but in sheer bonkers-blooming-balmy handicap you are up there with the best of them."

The demon they'd nicknamed Bluto called out behind them. "Come on Spike, I want to see what he's made of."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "He means that literally you know."

But Giles was all grim and determination. "Not if I kill him first."


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**_Do not mistake your place in the scheme of things. When the chips are down the Slayer is the World's only line of defence against demonic onslaught and brutal apocalypse. It is however the Watcher's function to ensure the chips stay up._**

**_Unpublished letter from US envoy. 1955. Source: Council Archives._**

It was time to move out to watch the end game. Travers locked the motel room and the trio headed for the parking lot. Sunnydale nights were darker than most but at least the interminable heat had finally dropped.

"I've been thinking Uncle Quentin," began Henry. Travers thought it highly unlikely but waited to see what the idiot had come up with. "This plan of yours, it's not going to end terribly well for this Giles chap is it?"

Travers chuckled. "One cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs."

"It just seems like a lot of trouble to go to. Why not just make this Giles person a vampire? Properly, I mean. Jane is a great girl and all that but why use a witch to cast spell and have a whole charade to make some chap think he's a vampire? Why didn't we just let our captive vamp bite him and be done with it?"

Travers stopped walking in disbelief.

"My dear boy. Rupert Giles as a genuine vampire is a thought borne of nightmares. You have no idea what he's capable of at the best of times. Make 'Ripper' a real vampire? I've never heard of anything so ridiculous. Any Watcher turned is a bitter enemy but Giles would enslave or destroy the earth within ten working days. And our only consolation would be that we'd be lying in our motel room with our throats ripped out by now."

"But he was at Oxford."

"Standards slipped terribly in the early seventies."

"Gosh. I had no idea."

June looked diplomatically elsewhere as Travers' sarcasm just bounced harmlessly off his nephew. They strode on towards their van, Travers leading the way at about eighty miles an hour.

"I didn't realise we were going to be in any danger, Uncle," the boy whined, sweeping back his hair again and completely ignoring the basics of security and vigilance. So much so he actually walked into the back of Travers who had pulled up sharply at a most disagreeable sight ahead, his mouth wide open. June had also stopped. She was a powerful witch but her eyes only darkened in fear.

"We still are, Henry. We most definitely still are."

There were Rounds. There were actual Rounds to this contest and while Giles had first assumed it was just a ringing in his ears, or that maybe it was the shop bell and he was warm and safe and concussed on the Magic Box floor all along, it turned out to be a timekeeper with a bell signalling the end to hairiest and most painful three minutes in Giles' life. They actually abided to Rounds even though there were no other rules he could discern. He sent a grateful prayer to the Marquis of Queensbury and crawled back to his corner and a concerned Spike.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Which hand?" he asked politely.

A huge bucket of water hit him in his face. Giles nearly swallowed half of it and he spat it out quickly. It tasted rather metallic which he hoped was the bucket but he had to concede it looked too alarmingly like a summer glass of rosé for that. He coughed up some more blood. It was going to spoil his leather jacket. He hadn't really hadn't had time had to think, let alone take it off his coat before he'd been thrown into this insane Thunderdome brawl.

Mitsy the landlady had been the one to swing the bucket his way. "I think you're tiring him out Slugger," she said not unkindly.

"Really?"

"Hardly," snapped Spike in frustration. "You need to not do this, you stupid sod. Throw in the towel. Say you are sorry and back the hell down."

His opponent 'Bluto', having no need for a rest between Rounds, was showboating for the crowd.

"Fee fie foe fum. I've spilt the blood of an Englishman," he bragged. There was much laughter and even applause from the demons in the audience that possessed hands.

Giles shook himself. "Is that a racist slur? I'm not standing for that..." He tried to get up to prove his point but his legs didn't seem to want to help.

"Oh for god's sake" muttered Spike. "Just stay down for a moment won't you?"

"No time," Giles declared. He grabbed the ring ropes to help pull himself up but Spike was quicker and evidently pissed off with him. He pushed back against Giles' chest in anger and frustration. Giles for his part heard a surprised cry of pain and found himself shoved backwards where he missed the stool and crashed ignobly to the floor. Spike was next to him, clutching his head in his hands, his pupils giving witness to the intense neurological pain. There was a great deal of laughter at Spike's apparent clumsiness but he and Giles just stared wide eyed at each other on the floor.

"I'm still alive," whispered Giles in wonder.

Unfortunately at that moment the bell rang again and huge hands hauled him up and back into the centre of the ring and an opponent who raised him above his head and sent him crashing back to the floor head first .

"Not in another three minutes you're not." He thought he heard Spike say.

The rules of the bar fight ran to three minute Rounds, but sadly no further along the Gentleman's Code for the Noble Art. Giles would have been happy to concede, to lie on the floor and be counted out, but his opponent was having way too much fun to let that happen. He was grabbed by the hair again and thrust into a tight headlock. The noise of the baying crowd and jukebox grew muffled and he started to black out. Giles waved his arms to gain some sort of purchase and blinked wildly to keep himself conscious. As he did so, he saw a vampire in the front row explode into dust from a crossbolt. The muffled noise became silence and the audience parted and turned to see who dared fire such a weapon.

Buffy stood on a table near the only entrance. Wielding Giles' best crossbow and looking mean as hell.

"Ah. Hello Buffy," Giles managed to splutter from his undignified position beneath his opponent's armpit.

She was eyeing Giles coldly but her words were addressed to the eight foot demon holding him in the head lock. "Want to put him down?"

'Bluto' obliged and Giles coughed and felt to see if all his neck bones were still in the right place.

"I can explain," he began but she had loaded the crossbow again and was pointing straight at him.

"Making new friends are we, Giles?" she answered coolly. "Can't let you out of my sight for a moment can I?"

His opponent began to laugh rather heartily. His chest, already a formidable size, expanded in joyful appreciation of the way events were unfolding.

"We're having a fight to the death and you brought along a date?" he boomed. Giles smiled weakly.

A couple of vampires made to grab Buffy's ankles but she slipped from her table perch elegantly staked them without ever taking her eyes off Giles. The rest of the bar crowd backed off at her display. A whisper went round the room that she was the Slayer.

Having determined that no-one was going to try any rash moves she addressed the ringside contingent. "Now boys, I don't want any trouble, I've just have come for him," she said menacingly.

Giles gulped. It was a rescue of sorts but he hoped to god she didn't fire that crossbow at him. He couldn't really alert her to his non-vampire status whilst a good number of demons stood between him and the door. Somehow he didn't think they'd be terribly happy at the news.

"You," she ordered as if he were a dog. "Outside, now." She jerked her head to the door to back up her command. Giles dropped his head and took a step to obey.

"Oh no you don't little Vampire." Bluto put a great hand across his chest and stopped him. "I'm starting to like little Rupert here, he's very unpredictable and I like that." He pulled Giles to his chest, crushing him once more only this time with affection. "And the fact you want him Slayer, well, that just makes me like him a whole lot more."

Buffy's eyes had narrowed to slits and her finger wavered near the crossbow's trigger. The big demon moved decisively. He picked up Giles like he weighed no more than a paperweight and sat him down behind them on the bar top like a child whilst Daddy played.

"Get my friend a drink here."

The demons murmured with pleasure. One even bravely shouted 'Go home Slayer, nothing for you here'. Mitsy appeared at Giles' arm with the Glenlivet again. Giles ignored the shot glass and gulped directly. "No." He grabbed her hand a second time as she withdrew. "Please leave the bottle."

Buffy meanwhile was squaring up to Giles' newest best friend. The height difference made the confrontation look vaguely ludicrous, Bluto being about twice her height. "I'll go through anyone I have to," she hissed.

"I saw him first, I get to keep him," seemed to be the gist of the demon's argument. Giles watched in fascination as they vied as to which one had a greater claim to kill him. It was all a bit surreal.

Spike sidled up to him cautiously.

"What are you going to do, Watcher?"

Giles took another drink. "I don't think _'I say chaps, there's been a frightful mix-up and I'm human after all'_ will play terribly well in this room, do you? Not for either of us as you vouched for me."

"Bugger."

The bar crowd sensing in impasse started to find voice. 'Can't take all of us, girlie.' And 'We look after our own here, Slayer.'

Buffy was getting frustrated and shouted the hecklers down.

"Now I know it's Halloween and we all like to kick back with a few beers and take the night off. So I'll just take what I came for and leave the rest of you in peace."

The hecklers would not be silenced though. 'We're not giving up, whatshisname, Rupert.' Along with further cries of 'It's a matter of principle. Coming in here all WannaSlay.' A chant began of 'Ru-pert, Ru-pert, Ru-pert'. Even Buffy rolled her eyes at that.

Spike suddenly appeared standing on a table near the main door behind Buffy and shouting for order. The bar chanting subsided to hear him.

"Thank you, thank you for order." Every eye was on him. "Now I know this is a very important debate on the ethics of Slaying on Halloween but can I just ask - what are the evacuation procedures in the event of a fire?"

There was a long pause before Bluto answered in puzzlement. "I guess we run out the door."

Spike nodded wisely and suggested, "Might want to start doing that now then."

There was a moment of genuine confusion in the bar; a moment of genuine puzzlement at Spike's words that had them all looking at him like he was insane. But it was a moment in which he held their complete and utter attention, a moment therefore that was just long enough for Giles to act. He pushed some cloth ripped from a handkerchief into the whisky bottle, lit one end and hurled it into the dangerous dry rafters. Gratifyingly it exploded on impact, knocking Giles backwards off his perch on the bar and diving for cover. Sparks and fireballs rained down, vampires screamed and turned to dust when caught. The electricity cables decided to join in the fun and shot flames along their lengths. In seconds the room was engulfed in flame and smoke and a great roar of demons crashing and fighting to the exit. Giles hoped to god that Buffy had got out the way of the stampede. He shook himself and pulled the leather jacket over his head to make his own way out. The timber of the barn framed a vision of hell on earth. One of the rafters fell and nearly hit him. The smoke was disorientating and turned him around. He was fighting a wave of panic at having lost direction to the exit when a firm grip took a hold of his sleeve and he made out Spike's sooty features.

"Come on old man, you are definitely unpredictable I'll say that for you." Giles allowed himself to be led through the inferno and outside where they blundered out through the chaos. Outside there was a frightened roar of engines and exhaust fumes whilst others took to simply running as fast and as randomly as their legs could carry them.

"You did this, Spike." Two angry demons attacked them. One of them Giles recognised as the door-demon. Giles hit the deck with no decorum as Spike lashed against the two attackers. Giles pulled himself up to help when he saw Buffy was fighting the barrel chested demon he'd known as Bluto. He was fast for a big chap and had much greater reach. Buffy made a move with an axe but sickeningly Giles saw it was mistimed. The big demon's open palm hit Buffy cleanly and sent her flying backwards like a rag doll. When she didn't move immediately, Giles forgot Spike and set off like a cannonball to hurtle into the broad back of his former ring partner.

"I believe this is still my dance," he grunted as made contact and, catching his opponent off balance, managed to actually knock the previously immovable object over.

Bluto kicked wildly, catching Giles on the arm but he knew he had no time to worry about minor injuries as both fighters scrambled to their feet. Giles was slower and almost caught in a headlock, but for the fact he creamed his heel down his opponent's shin and stomped as hard as he could on his foot. Bluto yelped in pain and anger, giving Giles just enough to wriggle free. He looked to Buffy who was still unconscious, and Spike who had his own problems with two assailants.

"Going to pull your head off clean off, little vampire." His opponent was angry now, really angry. The fight in the ring had been showing off, making Giles suffer for the entertainment of the crowd. This time he was serious.

Well Giles was pretty bloody serious too. He was also angry and in pain, and Giles who always thought too much in a fight and who was, by all accounts, too much of a softie to be really dangerous, had had enough of being threatened and taunted. No, Giles was damn well going to take this demon down. He smiled at the demon with all the insouciance he could muster. He mocked him with a smile, and stood upright, encouraging the wild attack. The demon didn't disappoint, he launched with his fists, confident in his ability, angry with his prey. Giles took the blows and buckled softly. Momentum meant they were suddenly both rolling in the mud again, but on the ground, Giles had negated the height disadvantage. On his side he aimed a right hook at the head and a sharp knee to what he judged to demonic crown jewels. His aim was rewarded with a howl but it wasn't enough. The demon caught first the sleeve of his leather and then widened his grip to pull Giles arm almost out of his socket. He couldn't work himself free. He was pulled round savagely and the demon grabbed his neck to make good his earlier promise.

Whether it was instinct or planning, adrenaline or fear Giles would never be able to say, but he couldn't remember any conscious thought to his next action. His free arm dived to his jacket pocket, flicked his grandmother's knife and impaled the blade through pocket, ribs and luckily demon flesh. He pulled up savagely; slicing any organs he could find until Bluto went very still on him and fell in a heap.

Giles pulled the knife clear and sat back on his knees. It was by far the biggest thing he'd ever killed by hand. His fourteen year old self was tremendously impressed. The forty seven year old had to admit it was pretty cool too.

He looked up to see Buffy standing menacingly above him with her axe. He had the knife still and in an instant he calculated he could throw it at her, to slow her down, and stop her from decapitating him before he had had a chance to explain. He saw it all; saw it wasn't checkmate to her if he wounded her enough with the knife. But instead he dropped his grandmother's blade and smiled at her, offering no defence. He would let her kill him rather than hurt her in turn. He grinned. Even at fourteen he knew he couldn't hurt girls.

"Buffy, no!" Spike had despatched the last of his assailants and shouted again. "Don't kill him. He's not a vampire."

She rolled her eyes theatrically. "Well duh."

"Duh?" repeated Giles, still on his knees in front of her. "What do you mean 'duh'? How do you know it's 'duh'? I didn't even know it was 'duh' until about five minutes ago."

She smiled at his breathless indignation. "You should have done the research more thoroughly," she said cryptically before opening the slide door of a grey van. A young man with floppy hair stepped out gingerly followed by the tourist lady with the camel coat and, and, Giles could not believe his eyes, and Quentin bloody Travers.

Travers straightened his jacket and eyed Giles condescendingly.

"How are you feeling, Rupert?"

Giles actually growled as he jumped to his feet. Vampire or no, predator or no, he was going to kill this man who had put him through the night's suffering. Buffy caught him as his hands were almost around the older man's neck. She pulled him roughly back though Giles took a final wild swing and managed contact with Travers' chin at least. There was a satisfying crunch as he hit the body work of the van and blood erupted from his lip as Giles tried to break free of Buffy's grasp.

"Protect me, Henry," demanded Travers but his young associate with the hair merely shrugged.

"You did rather deserve that, Uncle Q," he said and smiled an apology towards Giles who stopped his ineffective wrestling with Buffy to snarl some more.

Spike sauntered up to the party and said, "And a whole lot more I'd wager." He grinned at all the attention and held up the chain from which dangled the Lazarus Stone. "Looking for this were we?" He took the Stone in his hand and squeezed. "Seems rather fragile don't it? What do you want it for anyway? Going to be a devil of a job to find earrings to match."

Travers dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief. "Hand that over right now," he ordered.

Buffy folded her arms. "Change Giles back first. Undo the magick and maybe we don't destroy this rock you want so badly."

"I haven't come to bargain, Miss Summers."

"Did you come to bleed then? Because I might not be able to stop him if he launches another attack." Sensing his cue Giles smiled the smile of a man with a plan.

Travers became indignant. "That artefact belongs with the Council. It's in neither of our interests if it falls into the wrong hands."

Buffy snorted. "Yours are about the wrongest hands I can think of."

"Enough. It's over Sir." It was June that spoke. The witch in the camel coat had already begun a spell that that attracted hundreds of particles of light about her head. At the end of her incantation, the particles shot forward, Giles felt a surge of magick invade his body and then harmlessly dissipate through his pores. He gasped, breathing in huge lungfuls of air. He felt better, warmer even. His hands had returned from the deathly blue pallor to a healthy pink. He felt for a heartbeat and grinned stupidly when he found one. Buffy smiled warmly at him in confirmation.

"Back to tall, dark and gormless, mate," said Spike helpfully, tossing him the Lazarus Stone. Giles walked up to Travers very slowly and thrust the black stone into his chest rather pointedly.

"If you ever do anything to me or Buffy or one of our friends again," he spoke very softly. "I will look you up, Quentin. You and your family."

Travers tutted his patronage. "Yes yes yes. You were never really a vampire, Rupert. There's no need for the hyperbole now."

Giles took another step forward and smiled dangerously. "It's not the vampire that's threatening you."

Travers' eyebrows betrayed his fear for a fraction of a second before years of training returned him to his insufferable composure. It was enough and Giles knew it.

"It's a bloody fake." Henry suddenly exclaimed.

"What?" Travers' composure hurtled to the rocks again. "Let me see."

Henry looked at him in disgust. "It's not the real stone. You did all this….You got it wrong, Uncle."

June slipped her hand over the jet black stone to assess it. "He's right. This has all been for nothing." She looked guiltily at Giles, then bit her lip but stopped short of apologising. She turned back to the van. Henry stomped after her too.

"I'm telling Mother," he declared.

Buffy commanded the keys to the Pontiac to drive them back to town. Spike had grumbled into the backseat —' I called shotgun you know It's not fair' – but his protests were ignored. Travers and his unhappy associates had driven off in their van in an angry silence and the demons had dispersed to the woods. It was all finally over with nothing left but to go home again.

Sitting next to Buffy, Giles watched the lights on the roads and the other traffic thoughtfully. "How did you know what had happened?"

"I went to your apartment and found the books you'd left out. Figured it was way too much of a co-incidence about this Lazarus rock. Also figured that the Council must be here in person so I kicked in some motel doors till I found them."

Spike sat forward between the two front seats. "That was a much better plan," he complained. He turned to Giles. "How come you didn't think of it?"

Buffy applied the brakes suddenly and pulled over. "And this is your stop, Spike."

"No it isn't."

"It is tonight," she answered firmly.

They were still a mile from town and no-where near his crypt. Spike reluctantly shambled out of the car. "I save your old man and this is the gratitude I get." He slammed the door and walked away.

Giles unclipped his seatbelt and set off after him. "Spike."

Spike carried on walking. "You were a rubbish vampire anyway. Next time, don't involve me in your hi-jinks and shenanigans."

Giles broke to a good a run as he could manage. "Spike."

"Wot?" he stopped and turned.

"Thank you," Giles said sincerely. "I know you didn't have the best of motives, but thank you all the same."

Spike nodded a terse acknowledgement. "Bloody boring boy scout of the undead. I should have known."

Giles grinned and Spike briefly did also before heading off into the night, muttering about the ruin of his good reputation.

Buffy started the engine as soon as Giles climbed back in the car. It would be sunrise soon: a time he thought he'd have to fear for eternity. Now all he needed to worry about was getting the shop tidy for Anya's Day of the Dead sales strategy the following morning. Well Anya was going to have to perkily manage that for herself. Giles had already resolved to go home, sit in his courtyard and wait for the sun to greet him with the warmth of an old friend.

"So how many cops are we going to find on the doorstep in the morning?" asked Buffy nervously, breaking into his reverie.

"What?"

"How many cops? How bad was it? Because one cursed candy bar and you were a teenage crime wave. You as a vampire makes me just shudder…"

"No. None." He sought to reassure her. He could tell something was on her mind. "Absolutely none. No cops I swear. I'm rather offended you should think such a thing."

She nodded and they drove some more into town and waited at the cross lights.

"Although I suppose we did just burn down that building," he mused and with a devilish air added, "And you might want to wipe your prints off this car when we dump it."

His words had the desired effect for Buffy skidded the tyres a little, taking the corner a little too sharply.

Giles chuckled. "The owner is fine. A little frightened but fine. I just needed to borrow his car for a while."

"Delinquent," she accused playfully. He tried to look suitably contrite but ended up giggling. Buffy joined in the light laughter before fixing her concentration on the road and saying quietly, "I'm sorry I tried to kill you before."

Giles shook his head. "You didn't."

"I know but I could've. It was close, in the Magic Box I mean…"

"No I mean you didn't try. Not really. You let me get away." Giles stretched back in the car seat and rested his head on his elbow. He should be admonishing her for her failure to take him out as a threat. Had he been a real vampire he would have made her pay for that compassion, but she was upset and he couldn't really criticise her when her inaction meant he was least still alive. He looked across at her, biting her lip, waiting for some chastisement. That he could do. "You're just a big old softie, Buffy Summers."

Her relief was palpable. "And you're a bad ass demon slicing-and-dicing machine, Rupert Giles," she countered.

He rested into the palm of his hand. "I won't tell anyone if you don't."

Now she laughed. "Deal."

She drove past the ruins of the High School and took the turn to West Street and Giles' part of town.

"Sunnydale and Halloween huh?" she declared, but Giles had started to snore ever so lightly.

_The End_


End file.
